


The boy who wore the sky on his shoulders

by 62miles



Series: I saw the sky painted in your eyes [2]
Category: SHINee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Coming of Age, M/M, Wartime, Yes I named all the farm animals, farm animals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 17:45:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7232479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/62miles/pseuds/62miles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It'd rained recently, a heavy afternoon downpour.</p><p>But Jinki walked home just like that, along the unpaved road, in his old pair of soft-soled shoes, stretched too tight over his toes and cutting into his heels where the skin had turned thick and brown. His feet sank unevenly into the moist earth, one side always deeper than the other, and in his wake were repeated sets of imprints:</p><p>Left foot, right foot, and a circle.</p><p> </p><p>A circle into which Jonghyun would sow a few seeds plucked from the green heads of the wild grass he'd been holding onto.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The boy who wore the sky on his shoulders

**Author's Note:**

> Originally dedicated to Kay; still dedicated to kay.

 

 

 

 

 

It was a sky blue shirt, Jonghyun recalls.  
  
A blue shirt that had been washed so many times it was turning white. Thin and see-through at the elbows, buttons—a few of them mismatching—sewn back on with cotton thread.  
  
  
It'd rained recently, a heavy afternoon downpour.  
  
But the boy walked home just like that, along the unpaved road, in his old pair of soft-soled shoes, stretched too tight over his toes and cutting into his heels where the skin had turned thick and brown. His feet sank unevenly into the moist earth, one side always deeper than the other, and in his wake were repeated sets of imprints:  
  
Left foot, right foot, and a circle.  
  
  
A circle into which Jonghyun would sow a few seeds plucked from the green heads of the wild grass he'd been holding onto.  
  
  
  
  
He was different, the boy who wore the sky on his shoulders.  
  
He was different from thick brows Park Dongwoon who would always steal Jonghyun's essay outlines, or class giant Choi Jinseok from whom they all copied their math homework, or self-proclaimed sports all-star Kim Seunghoon who supplied them with parts for their radios in exchange for doing his share of classroom cleaning duties. Different from teacher's pet Seo Mijin who ate books for food or baby-faced An Nayeon whose impeccable handwriting earned her the honor of helping paint the war slogan onto the back wall of their classroom. (But the slogan was traced from stencils so Jonghyun never understood why their homeroom teacher made such a big deal out of her neat writing.)  
  
  
  
He was seventeen too, but he was different.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 _Why don't you live in the cowshed and make the chickens live in the shack instead?_  
  
It's one of the first things Jonghyun asks when Jinki finally gives in to his pestering and takes him to his home. It makes sense: the cowshed, at least, has walls made of unbaked bricks and what used to be a thatched roof; the shack is built from wood and leans slightly to one side. It also leaks wind and rain when the weather gets bad.  
  
  
  
 _Sesame and Oranges like the cowshed._  
  
That's the answer Jonghyun receives. And he doubles over in laughter when he learns that Sesame and Oranges are the two bossiest hens of the boy's coop of seven. They're mean even to the sole rooster, Sorghum, who has lost a few tail feathers to their merciless beaks. (The only one they tread carefully around is the old brown mutt that sleeps by the shed entrance to keep wild animals away.)  
  
He thinks it's ridiculous that two birds can lay claim to a place and displace their human owner, but Jinki shrugs as he balances himself over his crutch and bends down to scratch Buckwheat's ears.  
  
 _'sides, there's more light in the shack!_  
  
Jonghyun nods without really understanding and tries to scratch Buckwheat's ears as well, but the dog throws him a withering glance and settles back down. It leaves him stiff and red in the face, though at least it makes Jinki laugh.  
  
  
  
That day he gets the full round of introductions—Buckwheat, the unaffected guard dog; Sorghum, the slightly neurotic rooster; Sesame and Oranges, as well as the unwilling subjects of their oppressive reign: Soybean, Peanut, Mustard, Lemongrass, and Turnip. ( _Soybean is special_ , Jonghyun makes a mental note as Jinki speaks, _because she's the only one who will suffer through you picking her up and holding her_.) Then he's told about the three wild ducks, new residents in the knee-deep pond where the irrigation water pools near the willow trees.  
  
Jinki points him to a particularly thick swathe of reeds and rushes. As it turns out, Cucumber, Luffa, and Eggplant are all girls and lay their eggs there. When they take their morning stroll, he sneaks in to grab their eggs. It's tricky to not disturb the place and scare them away, what with his lame leg and lack of balance, but he's managed it so far _._ It helps that the ducks have gotten so used to seeing him around that they're not the least bit apprehensive about parading back and forth right under his nose.  
  
Jonghyun might not pay much attention to the brainwashing of his teachers, but even so he's spent some nine years in the company of his ethics textbooks. He doesn't even think before he asks if it's bad to steal and won't they miss their eggs.  
  
The other boy twists his fingers into the hem of his shirt and looks a little distressed. _There's no drake around so the eggs won't hatch anyway_ —he's bright in the cheeks, flustered as he speaks— _I know the ducks aren't mine so the eggs aren't mine either, but..._  
  
  
  
Jonghyun learns that day that the female mallards are like the hens (except Jinki is not sure the supply of eggs will continue after these months of spring and summer since not all ducks are year round layers). And if you leave the eggs in the nest, they'll start sitting on them even though there's no use brooding over what's unfertilized. The explanation comes with flailing arms and it's not long before Jonghyun forgets about the moral correctness of egg-filching—he figures eating them does more good than letting them rot—and wonders instead about how big they are, what they look like, if they taste the way chicken eggs do.  
  
So Jinki fetches the jar he uses for storage and shows its contents to him.  
  
They're supposed to be larger and harder-shelled than chicken eggs, he says, placing one in the center of Jonghyun's cupped hands, but it might be that the trio is young, so their eggs are sometimes a tad irregular. Jonghyun holds the thing up to his nose. It's fragile-looking, a pale smooth green, blanched in comparison to the warm brown that he's used to seeing.  
  
 _Our classroom walls are painted this color! Except a bit darker, but you know, this green._ He brushes a thumb over the shell. (And he's only ever been this gentle with his radio.)  
  
Jinki is still eying him a bit too nervously to laugh at the remark. _I can boil one for you if you'd like_ , he offers carefully. And that's how they end up deciding to eat dinner together. Jonghyun picks at pebbles buried in the soil while Jinki rearranges the half-blackened chunks of wood in his makeshift stove and lights a roll of tree bark before putting it into the nest of twigs at the center.  
  
He's coaxing the fire to life when Jonghyun suddenly leaps onto his feet.  
  
  
  
 _Hold on!_ is all he shouts before he's dashing home full speed.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Jonghyun flies up the stairs in twos and threes, and he startles his mother when he bursts in through the front door. He's quick to right the umbrella that he nearly knocks over before she tells him off for it. Skipping over the _I'm home_ , he goes straight to the _what's for dinner?_ Though that is usually a moot question, since it never changes by much.  
  
His mother continues to pile food into a tin meal box and tells him to go wash his hands.  
  
 _You're giving noona all the leftover ribs?_ He exclaims. And then he sees the red braised pork still sitting on the stove and his frown flips itself upside down. He's in luck; it's rare to have different meat dishes on consecutive days when rationing has made meat hard to come by.  
  
Scratching behind his ear where it itches from a mosquito bite, Jonghyun patches together a few ambiguous half-truths and tricks his mother into thinking he's eating over at Dongwoon's house because Kim Eunhwa of the Student Culture and Education Committee is getting on their case about putting out an article in the next issue of their school's newsletter. With a sigh, she pulls out a second container and presses down a firm bed of rice. While she is picking the best morsels of pork from the pan and adding in pickled cabbage and bean sprouts on the side, she tells him to share most of the meat and to say he is full when Dongwoon's parents ask him if he wants seconds.  
  
It's not the first time Jonghyun hears this—he knows Dongwoon's family has it harder because they've got a man and three growing boys under one roof—so the words wash right over him. He gives his mother half-hearted reassurances and the moment he has the bag with the two tin boxes in his hands, he's out the door.  
  
When he charges out of their old apartment building, he nearly collides with a bicycle. Propping one hand against the handle bars and wrapping the other arm protectively around the food, he manages to twist his body over the front wheel. He teeters and hops and takes off again.  
  
 _Hyung!_  
  
The squacking voice of a boy going through puberty comes from behind him.  
  
 _Oh, Taemin-ah!_  
  
Even though he answers, he doesn't spare a glance over his shoulder.  
  
Despite Lee Taemin's deceptively delicate appearance, he is a monkey of a kid, elbows and knees covered in scabs and causing a ruckus wherever he goes. He leads his own pack of rascals and terrorizes just about everyone: people, livestock, fowl, fish, even ants. Strangely enough, the boy always starts wagging his tail whenever he sees Jonghyun, but he's four years too young for Jonghyun to genuinely humor him.  
  
However, good things do come of this bizarre not-quite-friendship. Taemin's maternal grandfather is a senior factory director and his father is a city-raised university-educated representative of the party, the local Captain of Industrial and Agricultural Production—whatever that is—sent by the central government. They are prominent figures in this town, so that often means—  
  
 _My dad brought home watermelons. Do you want to come over?_  
  
—yes! He clenches his fist as he leans into the turn around the corner.  
  
 _Hyung is busy right now but don't eat them all!_  
  
  
  
Jonghyun slows once his sister's workplace comes into view. The breaths burn inside his lungs and the quick tattoo of his heartbeat is about to burst out of his eardrums. Wiping the moisture from his upper lip, he turns and walks along the whitewashed wall that encircles the factory in the direction that will eventually take him to the front gates. With his and his sister's dinner swinging slowly front his right hand, he sticks out his left arm and runs his fingers over the wall's rough surface.  
  
The wall has several mottos painted onto it, bright red like the classroom slogans. The town mayor did it himself. The individual characters are giants; it takes him a stride and a half to cover the width of each one. As he walks, he straightens his back and stiffens his legs. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot—it's his one-man military march and the tin boxes he's cradling are his beloved rifle. Salute to the flag!  
  
He tries to hum but he's too short of breath to make much of a steady sound. The melody plays in his head, however, a trumpet's rendition of the national anthem.  
  
Before long, he remembers that Jinki is waiting for him and starts sprinting again towards the gates.  
  
 _Aigo, ran all the way here?_ The old guard greets him with a toothy grin and lets him in. _Your sister hasn't started the night shift yet, don't worry!_  
  
Just his luck! His eyes light up when he spots a familiar young man fixing the collar of his worker's uniform. Taking out one of the boxes and shoving it into the man's unsuspecting arms— _Jiwoong-hyung, please bring this to noona!_ —Jonghyun doesn't even tease him about liking his sister as he usually does before spinning around on his heel.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
When he nears the edge of town, Jonghyun notices a trio of fourth-graders throwing pebbles at something. One of them even has a slingshot in hand, the kind that all the boys are armed with for shooting birds. He makes a face; they're probably picking on someone's dog again. But as he gets closer, he sees a scrap of blue between the boys and their white—or what used to be white—school uniforms.  
  
His eyes widen.  
  
 _Yah Jeong Stupid, your mother's asking if you've finished your homework yet!_ As soon as the word _mother_ leaves his mouth, the tallest of the boys is hightailing it out of there. The remaining two turn around, only to be faced with a towering tenth grader whom even their big boss Lee Taemin calls hyung. When Jonghyun bares his teeth, they start running too.  
  
  
Jonghyun scowls as he pulls Jinki out of his crouch. _Fight back, why don't you?_ But he glances at the crutch in Jinki hands and swallows those words.  
  
 _You didn't have to come here to wait for me._  
  
Jinki smiles apologetically at him and pats down his hair to try and hide the bruise on his forehead. _I'm sorry. I—_  
  
 _I'm not worried about them knowing that I talk to you. Or else I wouldn't be talking to you._ Jonghyun rolls his eyes as he leads the way back to the cowshed. (Fine, he is worried about the adults finding out because his mother will make him stop, but he doesn't think Jeong Stupid is smart enough to figure it out, much less tattle on him. But just to be safe—and because the brat deserves it—he'll tell Taemin to roughen the boy up a bit when he goes over for watermelon later.)  
  
 _But—_  
  
Jonghyun gives him a look.  
  
 _But._ Jinki pauses and chooses something else to say. _But is it okay to call him Jeong Stupid?_  
  
Jonghyun shrugs coolly. _It's what Lee Taemin calls him._  
  
Jinki doesn't know who Lee Taemin is, but he nods and lets the subject go.  
  
  
Back at the cowshed, Jinki offers Jonghyun the tree stump he normally uses as a stool. Jonghyun drops down onto his haunches and tells him to sit instead. The argument goes nowhere so both of them end up squatting next to the makeshift stove. They also squabble over who gets the newer albeit still chipped white bowl, who gets slightly more porridge than the other, who gets the tad larger of the two duck eggs Jinki boiled, who gets to use the sole pair of uneven chopsticks—before Jonghyun remembers that he has two pairs from home, one of which he had forgotten to give to Park Jiwoong to pass onto his sister.  
  
Eventually they settle into eating, bathed in the light of sunset.  
  
With the last bite of duck egg in his mouth, Jonghyun looks down at the chunks of meat sitting in his porridge, sauce bleeding out into the thin soup—the majority of what his mother had placed into his tin box and what he had meant to give to Jinki—and suddenly something falls into place. He swats at the nearby mosquitoes with his hand and smiles.  
  
 _This is nice._  
  
He smiles, smiles so wide that Jinki looks at him a little worriedly.  
  
  
  
He scratches at the itchy bite behind his ear again and turns to the other boy:  
  
 _I'll bring you a watermelon tomorrow._  
  
  
  


 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Perhaps you'll find it contradictory that Jonghyun questions the ethics of taking duck eggs when "every boy" around is armed with a slingshot for shooting birds. It is intended. There are often contradictions between a person's different lines of thought, especially for someone who's young and has been handed "ideas" (rather than having generated them himself or having ruminated over them).
> 
> Duck eggs -> like chicken eggs -> produce of value, usually owned by someone.  
> Birds (mostly sparrows) -> numerous, wild, pests -> hunted by the boys in town for fun.


End file.
